


Same mistake

by ylc



Series: Of building tensions and their many consequences [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Implied Smut, Other, Secret Relationship, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), a bad case of lack of communication, a little pining that we won't call pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 17:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Insanity, Einstein had said, is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.Gabriel and Beelzebub have another meeting. Mistakes are made (again).Sequel to "Tension release"





	Same mistake

**Author's Note:**

> And since I have no self control whatsoever… have another installment of this little tale :P

They’ll act as if nothing had happened, Beelzebub has decided.

Next time Gabriel calls, they’ll pick up the phone as if everything was perfectly normal, as if their last encounter hadn’t gone so completely off track. They won’t mention the fight ring (although they_ won _ and they could rightfully brag about it, so by not mentioning it they’re being incredibly _ nice, _if they might say so themselves) and they certainly won’t mention what came after.

Even if that’s all they’ve been able to think about for the last three weeks.

Not because it was _ special, _ mind. Not because they got so much enjoyment out of it that they could hardly think of anything else, not because they’re _ burning _ with the need of a repeat performance. And certainly not because they’re still puzzling about the curious feeling Gabriel’s cool indifference afterwards provoked. No, it’s certainly none of that, because that would be foolish; downright _ suicidal _ and--

Well. It doesn’t bear thinking, really.

So what if the tension has built inside them once more and they’re in desperate need of release? That was never an efficient solution, certainly not one they can rely on. It could get them in trouble; make them vulnerable, prey of an Archangel’s whims. It will never do and so it’s better to leave the matter in the past.

So they won’t, not even in the most circumspect way, reference their last meeting. They’ll answer the phone, as cool and indifferent as always, they’ll agree on a hour (9 o’clock) and place (their usual bar) and that’ll be it. And then the new meeting will take place, they certainly won’t go to another fight ring and they _ most definitely _ won’t have sex with the Archangel and then they’ll go back to Hell and to their usual duties, as always.

And they won’t feel disappointed about it. Not at all.

The phone rings. They wait for a couple of beats, not wanting to look like they were waiting for it (even though they sort of were) and finally they answer with as much calm as they can muster.

It’s a good plan, they think, as the Archangel’s voice washes over them. Nice and solid.

And they’ll stick to it.

* * *

The bar feels more crowded than ever before, the air oppressive, the sense of being watched making their skin itch. It’s all in their head, they’re all too aware, but it doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.

This time, Gabriel is the one waiting at their usual booth, both of their drinks sitting on top of the table, a plate of chips between them. Beelzebub slides into their usual side of the booth, casually greeting their companion with a nod of their head. Gabriel smiles, in that infuriatingly overly pleasant way of his and Beelzebub hurries to take a sip of their drink. 

The room feels suddenly more warm, especially when Gabriel leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “I ordered your usual,” he informs them, as if they couldn’t see it for themselves. He smiles some more, overly eager and Beelzebub’s insides twist unpleasantly.

“Thanks,” they reply sarcastically and the Archangel grins, pleased and completely oblivious. Normally, this would earn him a roll of eyes from the Prince of Hell, but said Prince is busy keeping their messy emotions under control.

Beelzebub leans back on the booth, trying to put some more distance between them, but it helps little. They feel like they’re burning inside and the many layers they’re wearing aren’t helping, so they choose to shed their coat.

That, it turns out, is a mistake.

Gabriel is staring intently at them now, a hard to decipher look on his face. It reminds Beelzebub a little of the look he wore at the fighting ring and of course thinking of their last… _ meeting _ makes them think of what happened _ afterwards _. Desire burns deep in their guts and they barely dare to breath, terrified of what they might do if they move even the slightest bit.

It was foolish, they think, imagining things could go back to the way they used to be. They shouldn’t have agreed to meet again, they should--

_ They should leave _, they think, mentally preparing to do just that and then realizing their body is refusing to cooperate. They stare at their companion, trying to keep their expression neutral and probably failing miserably. They do not know how longer they stay like that, time seems suspended around them and for all they know a whole age might have passed before Gabriel finally looks away and Beelzebub lets out the breath they were holding. 

Most dangerous, all this. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Gabriel says after a beat, his tone as calm as collected as ever. Beelzebub wonders briefly how he manages, but quickly decides thinking about that will only lead to further madness.

“And you didn’t hurt yourself,” Beelzebub says sarcastically, figuring trading barbs might help them regain some sense of normalcy. “Good job.”

The Archangel throws an unimpressed look in their direction, but his lips curve upwards just the slightest bit. Beelzebub keeps their expression neutral, but they’re fairly certain Gabriel can see their mirth in their eyes.

The tension broken now, the rest of their conversation flows naturally, as it used to do before Beelzebub’s ill-advised suggestion for releasing tension. In the future, they quietly determine, they’ll avoid any type of activity that might lead to further fraternization.

They ignore the sinking feeling in their gut at the thought.

It’s for the best.

* * *

As the night progresses, the more relaxed Beelzebub feels, almost convinced the strange tension their little _ whatever _created, has disappeared. They’re beginning to see the wisdom on the humans’ old saying about the importance of keeping business and pleasure separate: the combination of both usually spell nothing but destruction for the humans involved.

Being a demon, Beelzebub would have thought themselves above that but alas, they were sadly mistaken.

But that’s all in the past now, they tell themselves. It was a mistake, yes, but they’ve learned from it and now they’re a little wiser thanks to it.

“I was thinking,” Gabriel says, after a long pause in which they both enjoyed the comfortable silence between them, both lost in their own thoughts. “Well, about our last meeting.” Beelzebub tenses right away, but the Archangel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “And I wondered if perhaps you’d care to do it again. I must admit I enjoyed myself a great deal.”

Beelzebub finishes their drink to buy themselves some time to answer, and also because their throat suddenly feels as dry as the desert. Gabriel can’t be referring to what they think he’s referring to, so he must mean-- “I’d advise against going to the same fighting ring,” they reply slowly. “You start winning too often and humans start getting antsy. They start getting all sort of ideas inside those funny heads of theirs.”

“Ah,” Gabriel replies softly, his cheeks colouring just the slightest bit, not quite meeting Beelzebub’s eyes. “I didn’t-- I meant the second part of the night.”

“Third,” Beelzebub corrects him and the Archangel arches an eyebrow. “We first had our usual drinks and then came the fights and then…” they gesture vaguely, all too aware they’re stalling.

“Fine,” Gabriel agrees with a dramatic eye roll, something a bit out of character, although Beelzebub will only think about that later, when they’re obsessing over what this whole thing _ means_. “But would you?”

_ No, _it’s what they mean to say. “Yes,” is what they actually say. “If you’re up for it… sure.”

Gabriel grins, in that too luminous way of his and Beelzebub’s stomach turns unpleasantly. “Wonderful!” he exclaims, joyful, already standing up and Beelzebub watches him with a mixture of amusement and dread. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

This, Beelzebub thinks, is sheer madness. But then, this isn’t the first time they’ve thought as much and it certainly didn’t stop them last time so-- 

They place some money on the table before following the over eager Archangel out of the bar, their unnecessary heart beating madly inside their chest.

This won’t end well.

And yet--

* * *

“Should I miracle us a room?” they ask, once they’re outside the bar, standing in the poorly illuminated street. Gabriel is looking around, searching for something apparently and Beelzebub stares at him unavadshely for a while.

All things considered, they certainly could be doing worse.

“No need,” Gabriel says, suddenly starting to move, his long legs carrying him easily across the street. Beelzebub struggles to follow, but they manage, not wanting to lose sight of him. “We just need-- aha! A cab!”

There is indeed a cab waiting on the main street and Gabriel hurries towards it. Beelzebub frowns, confused by the whole exchange, not entirely certain what to expect anymore. They had thought--

But Gabriel has already climbed into the cab and is giving directions to the driver, so the demon figures they might as well get in too. They should be more wary of getting into cabs with Archangels and no clear idea where are they going, but then, if the Archangel wanted to hurt them, they’d already have.

It’s not a terribly comforting thought, truth be told.

* * *

The drive passes in a bit of a blur and when they exit the car, Gabriel starts pulling them in the direction of a hotel. It’s not the Ritz by any means, but it looks classy all the same and Beelzebub scowls a little.

Of course Mr.-Fancy-Pants would choose a place like this.

Gabriel approaches the front desk and the pretty receptionist smiles at him politely, her smile faltering just the slightest bit after catching sight of Beelzebub. “Hello,” Gabriel greets. “I have a reservation under the name of Gabriel.”

Of course he wouldn’t even bother to make up a last name. Of bloody course. Do angels know nothing about humans and their penchant for names?

The receptionist however, seems perfectly unfazed by this. “Of course, sir,” she replies calmly, checking something on her computer. “The Master Suite, just take the elevator to the fourth floor and it’s all the way down the hall.”

_ Of course _ , Beelzebub thinks with a mighty roll of their eyes. _ The bloody Master Suite. _

Gabriel smiles endearingly at the young woman, before pulling Beelzebub along in the direction of the elevator. Beelzebub allows themselves to be lead and it’s just after the elevator doors have closed after them, that something occurs them.

_ A reservation _ . Gabriel had a reservation. Of course he could simply have miracled one up, but they get the impression that that would have counted as a frivolous miracle and, giving what he said during their last encounter, Gabriel must be trying to keep this whole… _ affair _underwraps. Which means he must have made the reservation the human way, which means he was hoping they’d agree to this, which means-- which means--

_ What the hell does that mean? _

Last time, the whole thing had taken them both by surprise. If pressed, both could have claimed it was a spur of the moment thing, a mistake born out of the adrenaline and battlelust coursing through their veins. This however, it’s deliberate. Premeditated. Planned for, at least on Gabriel’s side and that means--

They’re not sure they want to know what it means.

So they do the only logical thing to do: they kiss the Archangel in a desperate attempt to forget that none of this makes any sense, getting just a token of protest from his companion. “Not here,” Gabriel murmurs, not making any attempt to pull away. “Just-- we’re almost there.”

Beelzebub hums in acknowledgement, having no intention whatsoever to stop. This doesn’t make one tiny bit of sense, but it doesn’t matter, not when they’re busy kissing Gabriel as if existence itself depended on it. 

Thinking leads to nothing but endless worry.

And there are better ways to occupy themselves right now.

* * *

“You are ridiculous,” Beelzebub informs Gabriel, once they’re finally inside the Suite, looking around absentmindedly. “Why do we need all this?” they ask, pointing at the small receiving room. What sort of hotel room has a receiving room, honestly?

“Excuse me, but I have standards,” Gabriel protests, puffing out his chest, as full of self importance as ever. “Last time, your choice of establishment left much to be desired.”

“We’re just going to _ fuck _,” Beelzebub protests with a roll of their eyes. “Why do we need all this?”

“You’re a demon, I’m sure you can come up with a couple of creative uses for all the extra space,” Gabriel deadpans and Beelzebub arches an eyebrow.

“My, my, you’re way too kinky for an Archangel,” they murmur, full of false bravado. In truth, the idea has certain appeal and a couple of ideas have already popped up inside their head, but they're not going to concede defeat so easily.

They expect Gabriel to argue and go on a tirade about him being an angel and therefore incapable of such thing, but the Archangel simply shrugs, proceeding to shed his coat and continuing with the rest of his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Beelzebub asks, tone just a tiny bit panicked.

“Undressing,” the Archangel replies plainly, undoing his shirt buttons. “I’m sure you remember kissing and undressing is not exactly an easy task and I’m not keen on losing another set of clothes to your eagerness.”

They’re not lost, exactly. Beelzebub just kind of forgot to return them and they might be currently residing inside the Prince of Hell’s closet. Then the end of the sentence finally sinks and they’re quickly filled with fury.

“My eagerness?!” Beelzebub demands, annoyed. “Why, you-- I--” they find themselves flustered, tongue tied and they blush bright red. “I’m beginning to think this is a terrible idea.”

“Then stop thinking,” the Archangel replies easily, calmly folding his shirt and placing it on the chair, on top of the rest of his already folded clothes. “It’s most counterproductive, I’ve found.”

Beelzebub wants to argue, but then it occurs them they actually_ don’t _ . What they _ do _ want is to wipe off the self assured expression of Gabriel’s face and the best way to do that is--

They snap their fingers for dramatic effect and a second later they’re standing naked in the middle of the room. Gabriel stops what he’s doing to stare at them, that hungry look back on his face and Beelzebub grins, victorious.

Gabriel might act all confident and as if he really had any idea of what they’re doing.

But on the matters of lust, the Prince of Hell has the upperhand.

* * *

Beelzebub stares at the ceiling, trying to catch their breath.

It’s ridiculous, of course, seeing they don’t actually _ need _to breath. But these silly bodies get all kinds of funny ideas and it’s easier not to try to fight them. So they take deep breaths, eyes fixed on the ceiling, doing their best to ignore their companion’s own attempts to catch his breath.

“That was very good,” Gabriel tells them and Beelzebub snorts.

He’s right, but they’re not about to say as much.

* * *

Insanity, Einstein had said, is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.

“Was Einstein one of yours or of ours?” Beelzebub asks, staring at the array of food on top of the table. They had fallen asleep once more and Gabriel had gotten them breakfast again and they have no idea how they feel about this whole ordeal.

“I can’t exactly recall,” Gabriel replies absentmindedly, looking at something in his celestial phone. “There are too many humans to keep track of these days and I don’t care overly much, but I could look it up if you want,” he offers.

“It doesn’t matter,” Beelzebub replies with a wave of their hand. Last night had gone well enough, they think and there’s no denying they enjoyed it quite a lot, but now they’re wondering if it’s worth the feeling of hollowness in their breast.

“Well, I should get going,” the Archangel says, standing up. “I’ll call you.” He seems distracted, frowning at his phone and Beelzebub finds they don’t really have the strength to care.

“Sure. Til later, featherbrain.”

_ Insanity, _they think, cradling their warm coffee cup between their hands. 

Yes, that sums it up nicely. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
Thanks for reading!  
English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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